Carol, I know it's been at least a week since the last time I talked to you. Or, well, to your image, at least. I... I... don't know if you're really out there somewhere, listening to me, or if Lucas has been right all along with his existentialist attitude that he sometimes pulls. Lucas, God. That's... why I needed to talk to you today, right now, before I talk to anyone else - even Kristin. I know eventually Kristin and I will need to talk about what happened, but I just needed to run it all by you first so I don't lose my mind.I went to Lucas' quarters to ask him if he could do a couple database searches for me. I've found, through trial and error, that it's easier for me to just go directly to Lucas with things like that. I went to go see him instead of just using the intercom because sometimes he's listening to music or something and he doesn't hear me trying to get his attention over the speaker.
I went to Lucas' quarters, like I said, and I knocked on his door for what seemed like five minutes. I know he doesn't lock his door unless he's particularly angry, or unless I tell him to lock it, but I also respect his privacy and make sure to wait for his okay to come in. I learned that one the hard way, both with Robert and Lucas. After a while, it became clear that either Lucas wasn't in his room (which was unlikely, since I had asked around about his current location before coming), or he didn't hear me knocking. Since I did need the searches done fairly soon, I opened the door and went in.
Nothing, no amount of years raising Robert or months I'd spent with Lucas, could have prepared me for what I saw on the other side of that poor kid's door. Even now, it gives me chills. Carol, I never had to deal with things like this with Robert. He and Lucas were -- are -- polar opposites. But then again, even with all their differences, I didn't think Lucas could do what he did.
There was blood everywhere, Carol. That was the first thing I saw: the blood. It was all over the floor, the sheets on his bed, his desk, there were even bright smears of it on the glass of the aqua tunnels. The blood on the glass was the worst. It was the worst because I could see his handprints, as if he had been slamming his hand against the tube to get Darwin's attention, as if he had been trying to save himself. But now I know that wasn't the case.
In the middle of all this blood, was Lucas. At first, I thought he was dead - although I wasn't very far off in my assumption. He was lying on the floor, propped up against the side of his bed. His eyes were closed and there was dried blood on his lips and chin, as if he had bitten his tongue or lower lip. But that wasn't where the blood in the rest of the room was from, Carol. The rest of the blood was from this terrible, angry, oozing gash on the inside of his left arm. It was still bleeding, running down his arm, wrist, hand. A shining knife was clasped in his right hand, bright red blood staining the blade.
It took a minute for the entire picture to register. At first I only saw the individual elements: the blood, Lucas, the cut, the knife. But then somewhere, somehow, it all connected. The knife was in Lucas' right hand, the cut was on his left arm, and no one had seen him for quite a while. Carol, he had cut his own arm open. I thought I was going to hyperventilate, or throw up, or have a heart attack, or even all three.
When I met him, way back. I don't know, four months ago?...I wasn't really sure what to think. Well, I do know what I thought at the time, and I now know that my perception couldn't have been any further from the truth. Imagine this punk kid mouthing off to someone he had never met, and who looked just as out-of-place on the sub as he did. But through that tough exterior, we did make some sort of bond. I thought I knew him - I thought I was someone he could turn to if he was upset. I know now that there is a great deal I don't know about him that I thought I did. Was it like that with Robert too? I don't remember, though I know I probably should.
I was frozen in my spot, just staring at all this blood that I still can't believe all came from one person.
The next thing I knew, Kristin Westphalen was beside me, handing me a cup of coffee. I didn't even understand half of what she was telling me, but I think it was something along the lines of telling me that Lucas was unconscious, would be for a long time, would be okay eventually, something about blood loss and stitches and psychological evaluations.
Carol, the kid is sixteen years old. Sixteen, and he's lying there in medbay hooked up to God-knows-what kinds of machines and he's practically dead. Could I have done something? Carol, it's like Robert all over again, only this time I know exactly what happened (although I don't know the reason for what happened), and you know what? That hurts just as much as not knowing. At least with Lucas it does.
What am I going to do, Carol?